


Seaside Sulks

by too_much_cheese



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Beaches, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 11:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1303621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/too_much_cheese/pseuds/too_much_cheese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock find themselves in Florida.  John wants to relax. Sherlock finds a dolphin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seaside Sulks

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to ValaEnVash for being my ever-faithful beta reader. 
> 
> This is the first fic I've made available to the public.
> 
> *runs away screaming*

John and Sherlock, clad only in swim trunks and sandals, were at a standoff in a parking lot.  

“I don't want to.”

“Sherlock, it's the beach. Who doesn't like the beach?”

Sherlock pressed back into the seat of the car as if hoping to meld with the leather. “Plenty of people, I imagine, myself included.  Really John, hyperbole doesn't become you.”

John rolled his eyes. “It's practically a private beach. No one around to bother you.”  Silence.  “Well stay here then. Big baby.” He scrambled out of the rental and into the hot Florida sun.  He breathed deeply, salt and sea-fresh air clearing the last of London's chill from his lungs.  A quick duck back into the car to grab a towel was halted by Sherlock's smirk.

“You look wind-swept already.”

John grinned. “Sure you won't join me?”

Bent in half and stretched over the gear shift, he was momentarily caught in Sherlock's eyes. _There's the sea, right there._ John licked his lips. Sherlock’s gaze flicked down and back up, and then he was a blur of motion, out of the car and halfway to the sand before John could extricate himself.  He straightened, chuckling. He'd had a feeling his overgrown child of a detective wouldn't be able to resist a new environment, and happily, had been right. Sherlock would never admit to needing a holiday, but John had been determined to give him one, whether Sherlock wanted it or not.  

He hurried after said man-child, calling out a quick, “Wait, you!”  

Sherlock paused his mad dash to fling, “I'll take samples!” over his shoulder, and then vanished from sight.  

John sighed. _Bloody bonkers, that man. God love him._  

 

 

A case had brought them to Florida.  It turned out that an associate of the late Mr. Hudson had made a feeble attempt to revive the business.  The local authorities had arrested and sentenced him by the time they'd arrived, but Sherlock felt a personal obligation to look in on things.  John could hardly blame him, so they'd checked into their hotel and taken care of matters within a few hours.  Then John had insisted on a trip to the beach.  

Now, he chose a spot near the water and settled down with a book.  A few pages passed—still no Sherlock.  He sat up.

“Sherlock?” No answer.  

“Sherlock, where are you?” Nothing, then—was that? Yes, a black curly head bobbed a few meters out from shore, then disappeared.  John jumped to his feet, heart suddenly racing.  

The head bobbed back into view again, along with a pale neck craned up to avoid the tide.

“Sherlock!”  John shouted once and Sherlock jerked toward him before vanishing beneath a particularly enthusiastic wave.  John was in the water without a thought, splashing chest-deep and fighting the tide to get to his friend.  His feet left the Gulf floor, but still there was no black mop, no pale body to be seen.  John stretched up and shouted again. “SHERLOCK!”

“What?”

John started, inhaling what felt like half the bloody sea. Sherlock bobbed beside him looking right at home, a merman come to life.   _To fucking drown me._ John coughed violently, fighting not to swallow more brine as each wave tossed him to and fro.  

“What the—Sherlock, the hell!”

Sherlock grabbed John's face, still treading water with ease.  He brushed John's fringe back, peering into his eyes.  “Are you all right? You're not a strong swimmer, what are you doing out here?”

John coughed once more, right into Sherlock's face, eliciting a grimace and regaining some personal space. Then he just floated for a bit, catching his breath and remembering that it would be  _bad_ to drown the world's only consulting detective.

Sherlock cleared his throat.  “I found a dolphin.”

John did not speak. The Gulf tossed around them, a symphony of rushing, churning blue.

“Right, shall we head back, then?” John jerked his head in assent.  

Sherlock dove toward the beach, long arms and legs slicing effortlessly through the water.  John followed more slowly, fighting the adrenaline left in the wake of his fright.  

_Leave it to Sherlock Bloody Holmes to give me a proper scare four hours into a holiday._  

But of course, his anger didn't last long.  John's feet met the sand and he stopped, transfixed at the sight of Sherlock rising from the water a little way ahead. Sparkling droplets cascaded off his skin, turning him from a mere man to Poseidon himself.  He shook water from his hair and then just stood there, stretching muscles unused to the rigors of the ocean.  

John stared.  

And stared some more.

It was Sherlock's dolphin that brought him back to himself.  It had followed them, and now nudged John in the small of his back as if to say, “Oi, don't forget about me!” Though John was fairly certain this dolphin was not English, he gave a tentative pat to its head and a whispered, “Good looking out, mate.” The dolphin nodded happily and bolted back out to sea.

John trudged the rest of the way out of the Gulf.  

Sherlock stood at the water's edge, smirking. “Bit slow today, aren't you?”

John shoved at his shoulder. “Arse.”

Sherlock scowled and pranced away.  Back at their spot, John threw himself onto the towel, his book forgotten.  There never _really_ was a holiday with that man. Not even on the edge of a bloody continent.  A shout echoed in the distance.

“John! Samples!” John waved lazily in Sherlock's direction.  The world's only consulting detective could take care of himself, as he'd proved time and again.  For a few minutes, at least, John was going to soak up some sun.  Hopefully, it would follow him back to Baker Street.

 

 


End file.
